


We Could've Been Bonnie and Clyde

by MilkPlague



Category: Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: 1920s, Abduction, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Alternate universe - Mafia, Blood and Violence, Chicago (City), Detectives, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Great Depression, Gun Violence, Guns, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Kidnapping, Laundering, Non-Explicit, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Steam Powered Giraffe (Band), Steampunk, Torture, Violence, chicago outfit, i love lucy vibes, mafia, shoot outs, speakeasy, the usual mafia stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:08:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27517369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilkPlague/pseuds/MilkPlague
Summary: Ruth Donnelly was just your average 1920s female slew. Clumsy, Stubborn, Blonde, and not a penny to her name, but when one bad case may lead to the end of her career at the Pinkerton National Detective Agency, she's willing to take on an impossible assignment involving the most dangerous mob in Chicago and it's cryptic underboss just so she doesn't have to face the wrath of her own boss.------------Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the SPG or any of it's characters.Bonus Disclaimer: This book is purely for fun and self indulgence, so bugger off with your overcritical opinions.
Relationships: The Spine/Original Character, The Spine/Original Female Character
Comments: 22
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

"Ruth Donnelly, you've pulled my suspenders for the last time, _damnit_!" Mr. Raymond shouted as he whacked either side of his desk with both hands. "You and your clumsy detective work has made me a fool of the press again!"

"With all due respect sir" Ruth meekly interjected without any respect due at all. "It wasn't my fault"

"Wasn't _your_ fault!?" Ruth's boss roared again as he slapped down the Chicago Turpentine's hottest news article with the words _"The PND Makes a Fool of Crime Solving"_ printed in thick black letters on the cover with a grainy photo of the Chicago Bank's empty vault just below it. The one that'd been robbed just the other night by the Jameson Brothers before they'd gotten away--- _again_.  
"Ruth Donnelly, do you see what this title says"

"Sir, no one reads the Chicago Turpentine anyways."

"---It's says that _YOU_ have made a fool of the Pinkerton National Detective Agency--- _my_ detective agency---for the very last damn time, Donnelly." Mr. Raymond fumed, his face red as a stop-light. "Are you hearing this??"

"Yes sir. You're speaking very loudly, sir" Ruth calmly sighed. "I bet Betty down the hall can hear you too"

"Do you think this is funny?" Her boss suddenly snapped, making the woman jump slightly in surprise. She was in a hot fudge Sunday now, wasn't she?

"......No sir" The woman slowly replied. 

"Good, because I don't think the poor people of Chicago who've just been robbed of all their hard earned coppa' finds it very funny either" Mr. Raymond spat; his venomous comment jutting Ruth harshly in the heart.

Despite Ruth knowing well enough that the Jameson Brother's getaway last night wasn't _entirely_ her fault, Mr. Raymond was right......... _for once_. Now that the Chicago Bank, (one of the last surviving banks in the city), was empty---it's last few invested occupants would most likely be left penniless.   
Ruth gritted her teeth at the thought of that. The sudden bankruptcy infecting the nation like a disease was putting people in poverty left and right, and cold-blooded criminals like the Jameson Brothers who had the audacity to rob from people as poor as them sure as hell weren't making it any better.   
Taking in a deep breath, Ruth clenched her jaw and looked Mr. Raymond dead in the eyes. 

"I apologize I let them get away sir" She breathily spoke; her words heavy and distraught, clearly upset. "But I swear on the last dollar I have that I'll track them down, and _this_ time, I'll make sure they don't get away"

"Well that's all fine and dandy Donnelly, but there won't be a next time" He sneered. "Not for you anyways" 

_Saint Mary, the man sounded like an egg._

"I'm sorry...are you..."

"Yes Miss Ruth" Mr. Raymond blandly smiled to hide the ferocity behind his words. "I'm firing you"

"But **sir**!" Ruth had exclaimed as she jumped from her seat, clearly in shock. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. _Fired?_ Raymond Houser was firing _her!?_ "Sir you can't fire me! This job---it's---it's all i've got Mr. Raymond!"

"Be a seamstress" He commented. 

"Chicago doesn't want a seamstress when it's got no money!"

"Well that's not my problem, now is it Donnelly?" Her boss sighed as he sat back down and began to fish through the clutter on his desk for a cigar. "I've been kind to you long enough Miss Ruth---Time and time again I've given you promisingly simple investigations to get under your wing, but time and time again, you've failed me" Mr. Raymond lectured as he finally found a fat Crabbemache Cigar hidden under a pile of folders about a recent string of petty thefts occurring downtown. " _All_ I asked you to do was to find out where the Jameson Brothers would be meeting, record their plans for the bank heist, and report back to us the moment you had that"

"And I did sir!"

"Miss Ruth, if I recall--" Raymond paused to light the cigar. "You didn't even press the record button"

"But I did!" She angrily argued. "It wasn't my fault though that the recorder you gave me was defective. I can hardly get my hands on any good equipment around here!" She sternly enunciated. "The stockers in the back always say I'm gonna break the equipment for the other detectives"

"You _did_ loose your revolver in the downtown river while you were investigating the Herrison Murders"

"A bloody psychopath knocked it out of my hands and almost murdered me, Raymond!"

"Hey hey hey!" Her boss jeered as he pulled the smoking cigar from his mouth and used it to point at her. "That's Mr. Raymond to you, _Ruth_ "

"You're not even listening to me!" the girl grumbled in dismay as she flopped back down into the chair opposite of his desk. "Every time I've failed an investigation, which is almost _never_ should I mention, you _always_ put the blame on me, but it's your agencies lack of respect for me as an investigator that costs me the important crime-busts"

"Are you saying that my agency doesn't respect you Donnelly because you're a woman?"

"Well it's sure as hell can't be because I'm blonde!"

"Calm your bosom, Ruth" the man bluntly stated. "No one here is tryna' get you zozzled"

"But sir!"

"Your fired Miss Donnelly" Raymond reiterated, clearly unamused by her desperate antics to salvage her occupation. "Now stop trying to pull my 'petrified' heart strings to make me feel guilty. I'm not an emotional man"

"But Mr. Raymond!" Ruth finally pleaded again, her voice shrill and nervous. " _Please_ don't fire me!" She added as she leaned over his desk; hazel eyes wide and round, filled with resentment. She couldn't believe she was actually _begging_ him at this point. Raymond Houser had to be one of the last bimbo's on earth she'd waste her breath arguing with. The man had cinderblock for a heart.

"And why shouldn't I fire you?" He grumbled. "I have every right to"

"Because.........Because......"

"Because what?"

"Because I'll make it up to you!" Ruth suddenly announced to him. "I swear it on my grandmother's key-lime pie, Mr. Raymond! Give me a case-- _ANY_ case! I'll solve it fast and good!" She stuttered. "Let me prove to you that I'm still worth my copper, Mr. Raymond!"

"You want me to give you a case just so you can keep ya' job?" He skeptically questioned.

"Please, sir! You don't understand" Donnelly frantically babbled, unsure of where all this meaningless ramble would get her---and to be honest---she half expected it to get her on the front doorstep of the Pinkerton Agency with a restraining order in her hands. "Give me _any_ case---I don't care how hard or useless it is---give me a case and I'll solve it! I know I'm not one of your best detectives, Mr. Raymond," Which was partially true. "But I swear I'm not your worst, and certainly not lousy enough to fire". Raymond Frowned. Narrowing his eyes, he pulled the fat cigar from between his teeth again and pursed his lips in thought.

"Any case, huh?" He murmured out loud to himself before twirling the pungent stick of tobacco bemusedly between his fingers. "Alright Ruthie" Raymond smirked. "I'll give you a chance--- _one_ chance---and if you blow it, you're outta' here, you hear me?". Ruth hastily nodded, her stomach twirled like blender full of steel bolts. She could hardly believe that a Mrs. Grundy like Raymond Houser was giving _her_ a second chance.   
"Alright, Aright---listen up Donnelly" The man smiled, standing to his feet as he patted out the wrinkles in his tan suit. "Since ya' so desperate for a slice of a chance, I'll be reassigning you a new case---walk with me" He told her as he pulled open the door to his office and strutted out with the female detective hot on the heels of his finely polished, black durby's.   
"Ya' know Ruthie, since I like ya' so much, i'll pay ya' one simple---- _Betty!_ " Mr. Raymond suddenly shouted as they approached the filing room which was looked after by Betty Cooper--a short but stocky brunette with massive round glasses who could've easily been mistaken for a librarian. "Betty, do me a favor and grab me the files outta locka' number 77"

"Yes sir" She'd drowsily replied before taking the locker keys out of her drop-waist dress and approaching a massive metal cabinet that she unlocked and opened before retrieving the _fattest_ stack of case files Ruth had ever seen.  
I mean, _geez-louise_ , if those particular case files had been a hungry man, he would've been stuffed. They were massive and _clearly_ heavy by how Betty's knees bent when she had to haul it out of the cabinet drawer and lug it over to her desk.

"Here you go.....Mr. Raymond..." She heaved between breaths before slamming down the massive pile of papers in front of both him and Ruth with an exasperated sigh. "What the hell kinda file even is this Mr. Raymond!? It's heavy as a baby 5 months late" She grumbled, rubbing her back in annoyance.

"Donnelly" Mr. Raymond beamed. "The Walter Files". Betty instantly gasped; her eyes wide in shock as she held her hands to her agape lips like _she_ was the offended one.

"Mr. Raymond!" She sputtered, looking as if someone had just murdered the husband she didn't have. "You don't mean-"

"The Walter Files as in Peter A. Walter-"

"The mafia boss!?" Ruth finished in an unbelieving tone as the color in her face drained, making her look paler then usual. "You're....you're putting me in charge of _thee_ Walter Files?" 

"Well I mean, ya' want to keep your job right?" Raymond grinned ear to ear.

_Oh this was Bushwa for sure._

"I---I mean...yes..." Ruth slowly admitted as she bit her tongue; too upset to argue. 

"Well great!" Her boss happily chided with a clap of his hands. "Now here's the puddin' Ruthie, all I need you to do is track down one lil' ole' member of the Steam Powered Suit--that's Chicago slang by the way--and report back to us"

"I um..." Donnelley slowly mumbled. "I mean....I guess it sounds easy enough" She added. "Who is it I'm tracking down?"

"The Underboss" Raymond casually remarked followed by another horrified gasp from Betty as she looked at him like he was a madman---which could've very well been true. 

"Mr. Raymond!" She exclaimed again. "No one even knows who that is!"

"Wait what!?" Ruth sharply uttered. "What do you _mean_ we don't know who he is? How can I find someone if we don't even know who he is?"

"Well it wouldn't be much of an investigation if we knew the answer to that, don't you think Ruthie?" Her boss observed. "Besides, I thought you said _any_ case?"

"I......I did" She reluctantly confessed before swearing like a sailor in her internal dialogue. "I just....I didn't expect it to be.... _this_ case in particular."

"You're not trying to tell me you're unsatisfied with the assignment I've given you, _are you_ Ruthie?" He snidely but sternly smiled. "Because If I recall correctly---I'm giving you this assignment out of the pity of puttin' a poor girl like yourself on the streets"

"I know sir" Ruth Donnelly sourly mumbled.

"Wait---you fired Ruth!?" Betty gasped, (because as they say---3rd time's a charm). "Not _our_ Ruth???"

"Gee Betsy, I didn't know we had another Ruth?" Mr. Raymond sarcastically replied. "Yes _her!_ But thankfully for her, I've decided to offer her a second chance; right Miss Donnelly?" He smiled, patting her enthusiastically on the back. "Therefore--I bid you a good luck.............unless of course" He paused to make a little pouty face. "You don't think you can handle this one"

"What!" Ruth quickly countered. "Of course I can handle it!" She confidently smirked with a casual shrug, _though_ , somewhere deep inside, she was sure a part of her had just died and gone straight down to hell. "I can handle this, ish kabibble!”

"Oh, well that--" Mr. Raymond paused to grin. "--That Is just wonderful Donnelly! I expect to see the reports on my office desk in a few days time, alright!" He concluded with a cheerful thumbs up of approval before turning away and returning to his office without another word; the door slamming shut behind him. 

Ruth, to say the least, was _horrified_.  
I mean, she'd taken on -plenty _-_ of dangerous cases before, but nothing as wildly hazardous as dealing with the Steam Powered Suit---Peter A. Walter's posse of mobsters--- _especially_ when it came to his mystified Underboss.  
Anybody who was anybody in Chicago knew that the underboss of the Steam Powered Suit was one of the most dangerous and merciless men in all of Illinois, and that's EXACTLY how Walter liked it.  
See; everyone knows that Walter is an old man now. The dude is bound to be kicking the bucket in a few years if he isn't gunned down by one of the rival mobs first; so once it came to picking an Underboss, (who'd ultimately take his place upon his death), it was a no brainer that he'd pick someone as crazy as _he_. The man was as good as a serial killer with all the leisure shoot-outs he conducted.  
The mere mention of his name made Ruth's stomach curl in anger. No one had the right to bring harm to innocent folk as the ones that lived in the Steam Powered Suit's district. She wasn't even sure if there were any poor souls left alive to live there, but she knew that if those criminals had really wasted all the inhabitants, there would really be no use of doing what they did. Fear is what kept Walter's Mob in control---even the police feared him---sometimes even to the point that corrupted sectors within the law force would opt to work with him instead of against him. It was disgusting. 

"Ruth" Betty had suddenly spoken up as she'd watched their boss exit into his office. "Are you....are you _really_ gonna take this case?".  
Ruth sighed in displeasure, unbelieving of the words that were about to leave her red lips. 

"Yes" She tried to smirk, but the attempt quickly failed. She knew better than trying to fake her confidence in front of someone like Betty Cooper; the woman could read you like a gossip magazine. "I hope at least.....it's not like I have much of a choice"

"I can't believe that block head sometimes" Ruth's colleague scolded, shaking her head as she stared at Mr. Raymond's office door. "I swear I could slug him sometimes"

"You should" Ruth softly laughed as she began to pull the cumbersome Walter Files into her arms. "His heads too thick anyways---he wouldn't feel a thing" She added before receiving a pleasant smile of amusement from Betty. 

"Oh Ruth!" The woman chuckled to herself before picking up her clipboard and writing down some notes for her daily report about Ruth's new case assignment. "Anyways, just take those to Marty's desk and he'll give you the lowdown of what you'll need before you officially start the investigation, got it?"

"Alrighty--" Ruth had quickly replied as she attempted to lift the heavy case files safely off the desk. "Thanks for all the help" She breathed through her teeth; the stack of papers labor-some in her arms as she turned away and carried them off into the main room.

"Oh boy..." Betty had bluntly murmured under her breath the moment Ruth was out of ear shot. "They're gonna eat her alive"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ||1920's Slang||  
> Coppa' - A thick new york accent trying to pronounce "Copper"  
> Zozzled - Drunk, ruined, sh*tfaced  
> Mrs. Grundy - an uptight or very straight-laced individual  
> Bushwa - Bullsh*t  
> ish kabibble - No worries
> 
> ||Additional Info||  
> \+ Durby's - a brand of shoe most commonly worn by businessmen. 
> 
> \+ The reason I've chosen to call Peter A. Walter's Mob, "The Steam Powered Suit" instead of just simply, "The Steam Powered Giraffe", is for 1. It sounds a bit more serious, lol, and 2. It's suppose to be a spin-off of the name 'The Chicago Outfit', which was one of the most powerful and dangerous mafias to ever exist.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy stromboli....another 2,762 words in one day??? This mean's well be meeting our very particular and special silver underboss soon!!!

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Babe Ruth--what can I do for ya', Donnelly"? Marty Stout, a tall boy with caramel colored curls, called out to Ruth in his usual Scottish brogue.  
In comparison to all the other detectives who worked for the Pinkerton National Detective Agency, Marty stuck out like a sore thumb. Or well---in _his_ case---a Scotsman among a bunch of Chicago boys. He was still one of Ruth's favorite work partners though, _even,_ despite the lousy nickname he insisted on calling her.  
Ruth had to admit it was a clever title, but people around the PND didn't seem to respect her enough already, so the little name gave them all the more reason not to. I mean, even _Ruth_ knew that Marty had thought she'd been a joke since day one. The two never seemed to get along very well, but it didn't mean that their work chemistry wasn't right as rain.

"Hello Marty" Ruth laboriously huffed in response as she slammed down the Walter Files heavily onto his desk with a strained gasp of well deserved air. "I need your help"

"'Course ya' do, Babe Ruth" He matter-of-factly smiled before smugly spinning side to side in his office chair. "What's the problem this time?"

"New assignment or Mr. Raymond bumps off my career" Donnelly dully grumbled out loud before she began to fix the rebel strands of her short blonde hair back behind her ears. "Ain't it a whoopee?"

"Oh yeah. Plenty of fun!--- _say_ \---you didn't happen ta' wager yer' whole career on this case, did'jya?" He innocently smiled to her, his fingers casually gliding through his messy curls. "Because don't even think fer' a second that I don't know what this pile o' rubbish you've just set down on my desk is"

"The Steam Powered Suit's Underboss. Do you have any idea who he is?"

"Oh ho ho--you _diiid_ , didn't you!?" Marty humorously howled. 

"Marty!" 

"Alright, alright! Staying focused, staying focused" He smirked to himself as he sat up straighter now; his posture clearly meaning it was time for business. "Repeat yer' question one more time fer' me, will ya?"

"Steam Powered Suit's Underboss. Any Ideas?" Ruth flatly spoke again as she sat down on the other chair and smoothed the wrinkles from her oversized tangerine drop-waist dress, (a popular style of dress women seemed to have been flouncing about in since the start of the 20s). 

"Ah! Right, right. The underboss...." Marty murmured to himself as he began to dissect the comedically massive pile of papers laid out in front of him with a slow sigh. One by one, he glazed his oceanic eyes over the paragraphs, making sure to take in the important details before moving onto the next. The boy didn't seem to talk for what felt like an entire half hour until he was almost halfway through the pile when he stopped to turn towards Ruth. "What exactly are you trying to investigate about him? Saying his name isn't a very narrowed topic"

"Mr. Raymond just wants me to track him down, disclose his identity, any plans of great importance, and then bugger out of there"

"Easier said then done, am I right?" the Scottish boy softly mused to himself before sending a glance up from his work desk at the other detective's tables. There weren't a great amount of people left working at this hour. Just Ruth, Marty, Betty, and 3 other detectives. Mr. Raymond called them his Pinkerton Trio. They were probably some of the greatest detectives the agency had, and Ruth absolutely _envied_ them. Each of these men had IQ's above 100 and suave looks good enough to kill, but _most_ importantly, they were investigative professionals. The Trio was made up of Hamish, Booth, and Otis. 

Hamish was the tallest and most definitely the leader of the three of them. He was basically a living, breathing Sherlock Holmes. He had platinum blonde hair, pale brown eyes, and a stocky but toned body structure. He was always holding a cigarette between his lips, but it was never lit. Ruth wasn't even sure if she'd ever actually seen Hamish smoke before, but it certainly gave him a spot of character. 

The second was Booth. Booth was shorter and slightly thicker in size; the man was built like a fridge; but Ruth didn't really know a lot about him. He was the quietest of the three, but definitely the strongest. If Ruth wasn't mistaken, she'd heard a rumor once that Booth had been a street wrestler in his teen years, but after being dumped into private school by his parents, he'd chosen to take the law-enforcement route instead. She couldn't really say for sure though if any of this were entirely true, but it would've definitely been a good explanation for the man's impressive muscle.

Finally, the last of the three was Otis and he was the most average looking---in a good way, _mind you_. He was a toned, browned haired man who looked like a stranger to the idea of sleep. There were always dark circles around his soapy blue eyes, but it seemed to just add to the whole charm and aesthetic of his hard-boiled detective look. Messy hair, unshaven gruff, and a deep, silky voice to go with it all. Between the three men, he was always dressed the most causal as he continued to dawn wrinkled suspenders and coffee stained white shirts with large overcoats. Ruth liked him the most honestly. He seemed charming and gentle and would even occasionally greet her in the early mornings of the day when they'd come to punch in around the same time.

"Babe Ruth? Huston to Babe Ruth, are ya' listening to me?" Marty's voice had suddenly spoken up from Donnelley's day dream, causing the girl to slightly jump as she turned to look at him. 

"What is it Stout?" She quickly replied, embarrassed of whether or not he'd caught her staring at the three of them.

"I said I think I found something that might help your whole....ya know...." Marty paused to find the right word as he snapped his fingers thoughtfully at himself. "situation."

"Oh uh, what is it?" Ruth responded, her interest piqued as she returned her focus back to the job at hand. Finding the underboss of the Steam Powered Suit.

"I got some old notes here from our last investigation on the underboss that _MIGHT_ tell us where they--ya know--uh...." He paused, snapping his fingers repeatedly again. "What's that slang you guys use for...ya know....making plans?"

"Conspire?"

"I guess," Marty quickly answered. "but's that not important--look here" He added as he handed Ruth the paper he'd picked up. She'd recognize this messy scad of handwriting anywhere. These were _Otis's_ notes. He must've been the last detective involved in the Walter Files before they were tossed aside for more convenient jobs. "It says here that between the last codes he'd picked up between the Capo's and their Underboss had something to do with the words, 'noose' and 'flame', which were words he assumed had to do with their usual meeting place." Marty finished before he turned back to the rest of the papers he'd picked out. "Do those words mean anything to you, Babe Ruth?"

Donnelly frowned, staring down at Otis's messily hand-written notes with dismay. What _did_ the words 'Noose' and 'Flame' have to do with each other. I mean, as far as Ruth was concerned, it just sounded like morbid chatter.

"No ideas?" Marty spoke again, gaining a slow nod from his colleague. 

"This investigation is going to go down in flames like a lead zeppelin, isn't it?" She sighed in dread. 

"Well--"

" _Ruth Donnelly!_ What in Frank Sinatra's bobby socks are ya' still doing here?" Mr. Raymond's voice had suddenly interrupted, gaining the attention of everyone in the room as well the trio which honestly made Ruth's heart sink in embarrassment. "I don't pay you for over time. Get the hell outta here" Her boss sternly ordered.

"Yes sir!" Ruth had to choke the words out through the stiff rock in her throat as she quickly stood up and gathered the paper's Marty has pulled out of the pile. 

"You too Stout! And clean up the mess you made of your desk. This is a business not a college. Your desk is your _professional_ work place"

"Aye sir" Marty smirked, though Ruth could tell he wouldn't have hesitated to slug the man with a metal bat. "right away"

Without another word, Mr. Raymond motioned that his favorite trio of slews carry on without interruption as he turned and went back into his office. 

"I'd like to make swiss cheese out of that bastard someday" Marty Stout whispered softly to Ruth as he began to organize the case files with a slap-stick grin. "Right Babe Ruth?"

"Marty!" The girl snapped quietly, seeing as Booth from the other side of the room was beginning to send them peckish glares. "We're in a detective agency! Could you at least _pretend_ to be a good person" She joked under her breath as she began to shovel the remnants of the Walter Files into a separate file for her to bring home. 

"Oh c'mon Babe Ruth" Marty whispered back. "I thought you out of all people would feel the same". Ruth shook her head in disapproval, but her pearly smile was still eminent on her face. 

" _Goodnight_ , Mr. Stout" She smirked in reply.

"Have a good evenin' Miss Donnelly" The boy smiled in return as he waved her off.

"Goodnight Betty!" Ruth called to her friend as she tapped the filing room's door on her way out.

"Nighty Ruth!" The woman had responded just as the blonde girl had pulled open the agency's office door and ankled it out with the files still pressed to the long string of pearls hanging around her shoulders. 

The walk back to Ruth's apartment had been a long one---per usual _of course_. When returning home from work, the girl would walk 2 blocks down the street to catch the 9:00 trolley home before it headed to uptown Chicago where it would drop her off and she'd have to trek another block or so to get to Elder lane. That's the street her apartment was located on. It was a humble abode. Maybe not quite the best of places, but it was nice enough for a single, working-class girl like herself. 

Trudging tiredly up the apartment complex's stair case, Ruth eventually made it to the very top floor where she approached her door at the end of the hall; key in hand as she unlocked it whilst listening to her neighbors loudly argue next door, (like they did most Thursday nights). Ruth wasn't entirely sure what would arise every coming Thursday night that would spark arguments as annoyingly loud as theirs's---but whatever it was---she was just glad it had a schedule.

Pulling the door open, the girl was quickly greeted by both the sound of her apartment's broken heater and her sickly calico cat, Cheddar.  
The gangly feline meowed complaints of all kinds to it's owner as she ambled in, pulling off her champagne colored cloche hat before shutting the door softly behind her.

"Afternoon to you too, Chedds" Ruth tiredly greeted as she tossed the hat onto the nearby dining table before flopping down into her clangorous sofa.  
The lounge seat had been a gift from her old neighbors before they moved out a few years back, so it'd already been well worn-in by the constant use to the point that every time Ruth sat down on it, the springs would groan under her miniscule weight. 

Once comfortably seated in the large seat, Ruth pulled out the Walter Files still pressed against her chest and set them down in front of her on the coffee table she'd conveniently placed. 

There wasn't much else to go by since Otis's notes were neither clear nor complex in terms of information about the underboss. Most of it was just documentation from past run-ins with the mobsters, but nothing of great importance to go off on. 

Letting out a disappointed sigh, the girl shook her head as she stood; eyes locking with the words Marty had circled in black ink, _"Noose"_ and _"Flame"_. Ruth repeated the words several times under her breath, but much like before, it shared no great significance to the whole plot. She was beginning to think that the code words may have been misinterpreted. 

Stretching the tight kinks from her vertebrae, the girl turned and made way for the bathroom where she began to take her makeup off with a bar of soap and hot water. She lathered several thick layers between her hands before working the lemon, scented suds carefully around the soft curvatures of her slender face.  
I mean, Ruth knew that she'd been loosing some weight due to the food prices the shops were cranking up ridiculously high, but she hadn't really taken the time to _really_ observe the consequences of her negligent shopping trips. All she could do was mutter a thwarted, _"oh well"_ , and move on with her life knowing damn well that If her mother had seen her like this, she would've gotten an instantaneous earful about how she needed to 'care for herself more'. 

Ruth shook her head softly at the thought of it, a smile growing on her face as she pondered on the topic of her mother. Oh how she missed her.  
Ruth's mother wasn't dead of course, but she lived very far away now ever since Donnelly had decided on moving to Chicago to further her detective career. How ironic was it that it would be coming to an end soon if she didn't figure out this little detail with the Walter Files. The thought drove her crazy, but it only wanted to make her work harder. _Especially_ when she thought about that slimy, smug grin Mr. Raymond Houser would be wearing the day he was given the pleasure of firing her. 

Ruth Donnelley was sure that the man hated her guts now, but it hadn't always been like that. When Ruth had first come to Chicago seeking a job, she'd worked for a smaller detective agency. 'The Winston Private Investigators', they were called. It was only a small team of 8 amateur detectives who'd put their grey-cells together to crack the cases they were given---but despite still being slews in training, they sure as hell were good at what they did. Eventually, Ruth had been the one to help crack a serious murder mystery that had really shaken Chicago up upon it's appearance. The momentous occasion made the headlines of the Chicago paper itself! Once word had gotten out about The WPI's prized detective, Pinkerton was quick to swoop in and offer her a deal to work for Raymond's team as a trainee Investigator. Usually Ruth wouldn't have been so easily persuaded to come work for a big time corporation like the PND, but she needed the money, so what the heck did she have to loose?

She snatched up the job on the first wind she got of it and was quickly taken under the wing of Raymond Houser himself who'd made sure to give her the easier cases at first while she was still learning. But the more Ruth had learned, the harder her cases grew till one day she realized that some of them were beginning to over-reach her own abilities.   
She knew that working with the Pinkerton Agency meant more complex investigations to take care of, but she really felt like a lot of her associates, (especially Mr. Raymond), had over-estimated her _just-above-average_ investigative talents.   
Ruth knew she wasn't the worse, as she'd told herself time and time again, but she was no member of the Pinkerton Trio. Oh how the thought of them filled her with the desire and determination to become a better detective.

Rubbing away the last splotches of her make-up, Ruth reached for her hand towel and dried her face off before she looked up into the mirror and came face to face with the jutting words, _"Hangfire"_.

Her skin practically jumped in shock as she swung around on the heels of her tan pumps till she was staring at an issue of Chicago Turpentine that she'd left on the side of her bathtub to dry off. _And there_ , in smudgy black heading letters, were the words, _"Hangfire's Midnight Club: Grand Opening"_.

"Holy cannoli!" Ruth loudly exclaimed to herself. "That's it!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ||1920's Slang||  
> Bumps Off - Kills, ruins  
> Whoopee - to have a fun time  
> To Make Swiss Cheese Out of Them - to shoot someone  
> Ankle(d) - to walk


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd recommend before reading this chapter that you quickly slide down to the end notes and read the 1920's slang first. There are some imperative words to the story that you might not understand until you've read what they mean.  
> ((also! This is an EXTRA long update, so not everything has been accurately updated. Bare with me ya'll and enjoy!))

"Wait....so let me get this straight" Marty had tiredly croaked from the receiver end of Ruth's phone line as he rubbed the exhaustion lethargically from his eyes. "You called me up at--- _what time is it again?_ "

"5:47 AM--" She impatiently reminded him again.

"Right---5:47 AM because of..........what exactly?"

"Because of _'Hangfire's'!_ " Ruth eagerly repeated to him with a dramatic wave of her arms as the Abraxo cleaner in her non-dominant hand spilled across the floor in a clumsy, white line. "Last night I was doing some more investigating when I found this old article I had sitting on my bathtub; drying for weeks, and you know what it said!" She'd abruptly asked.

"Hang........fire?---"

" _HANGFIRE_ , Marty!" Ruth interjected lickety-split before she began to shove a few pieces of week old laundry into the open machine. "And as a matter of fact; _Marty Stout_ , Hangfire's Club just happens to be the downtown speakeasy that opened up off of Clybourn Avenue a few months ago!"

"Okay....." The boy slowly mumbled in reply, unsure of where exactly this was going. "What's your point?'

"C'mon Stout! Get your head out of the cotton!" His female colleague scolded in reply as she awkwardly ambled over a heap of unpacked moving boxes blocking the laundry room door. "HangFire, Marty, _Hangfire!_ "

"Yeah yeah! I heard you the first few dozen times, Babe Ruth! Keep your voice down--it's still 5am" He groaned in displeasure as the sound of the girl's strident voice rang obnoxiously in his ears. "I just want to know what the hell it means to _you_!?" 

"Don't you remember!" Ruth asked in confusion. "Noose and Flame! The two code words Otis had translated from the last message intercepted between the Steam Powered Suit and it's Underboss! It wasn't just random words, Marty," She'd enthusiastically added. "It was just their surprisingly uncreative code-word for Hangfire's Midnight Club!".

Marty, (to say the least), found himself struck speechless---and not _just_ because he was still half asleep. The boy, who'd seen Ruth both at her best and worst, was genuinely impressed that she'd figured out the true meaning behind the seemingly random pieces of vocabulary, and truth be told; Marty knew deep inside that even if the investigation _didn't_ go as Ruth planned, he surely hoped that her positive effort would save her career from Mr. Houser's wrath. Loosing someone like Ruth Donnelly to unemployment wouldn't be a sacrifice--I'd be a waste--and Marty was sure he'd have something to say about it if his boss thought otherwise. 

"Hot dog, Ruth!" The boy muttered to himself; his voice breathless as his eyes grew wide in utter astoundment. "That's--just-- _geezums_ " he whispered, followed by a sudden banter of inaudible profanity. "Did you tell Mr. Raymond yet?"

"What!?" Ruth exclaimed, taking offense. "Of course not! The man's not even up at this time, Marty".

"Yeah, well neither was I..." 

"Oh stop your griping you pansy!" Ruth playfully insisted as a broad grin slowly crossed her blushy cheeks. "Don't you know what this means!?"

"I uh--"

"It means this that this investigation is gonna be under-wraps soon, Stouty!" The girl squealed in sheer excitement as she'd placed the telephone close to her heart to damper the noise. "I'm gonna keep my Job, Honey!"

"Woah, woah, _woah!_ Hold your horses Ruth!" Marty had suddenly exclaimed from the other side of the conversation as he'd begun to slink tiredly out of bed; his mind more alert now that the topic was beginning to deepen in importance. "I'd hate to rain on your parade, but ya' don't even know how yer' gonna _''investigate''_ him. I mean - _geez lousie_! You don't even know what the egg looks like"

"Ain't that the whole point?" She sarcastically asked him before tugging the yellow telephone chord along behind her. "It wouldn't really be an investigation if there wasn't a mystery to investigate, _Martyyy_ "

"Yeah, it _wouldn't_ , but at least it wouldn't have to be a suicide mission either, Donnelly" The boy sighed to himself as he finally stepped out of bed and proceeded towards the closet to get dressed for the day. "This is a serious thing we're talkin' about, Ruth, so don't be pickin' up any wooden nickels now"

"Yeah, yeah--I know" The girl inwardly groaned before pulling a small box of cheerios out of her kitchenette's miniature cupboard and tossing it onto the dining table. "But this is _also_ the case that's suppose to be saving my job for crying out loud! If I don't crack this thing on the double, Mr. Raymond's gonna be tossin' my only job down the pipe and _THEN_ what'll I do?"

"I know, I know" Her friend deliberately reminded. "But if you're not careful either, the Mafioso's gonna crack your bubs down the middle, Ruth"

"MARTY!"

"You get what I'm saying though, _right?_ " He inadvertently smirked before placing the phone down on the bureau beside him so he could pull his shirt on over his head. "The snazz your dealin' with is trouble, Babe Ruth, and I'm beginning to think that's why Houser put ya' on it"

"Maybe..." Ruth slowly murmured in disappointment; realizing that the concept didn't give her the--- _best_ of feelings. To think that her boss may have hated her enough to set her up for failure was as bitter as eating soap for breakfast, _(which honestly wouldn't have been all that bad since the cereal Ruth was eating right now tasted like the exact equivalent to a bar of Procter & Gamble Co. hand soap)_. "The point though is that even if Mr. Raymond _does_ want me to fail, I just.........I won't allow it Marty!" The girl exclaimed; her mouth still full of artificially flavored grains. "This job is all I have, and if I loose it ---" The words got stuck in her throat. Even just the mere idea of loosing her job made Ruth's face drain of what little color it had. Of course she knew that there were girls every day like herself who were being tossed out into the street to fend for themselves, and _everyone_ knows that a girl who lives on the streets of Chicago is as good as a dead girl who lives on the streets of Chicago. 

"Calm down Babe Ruth--you're not _going_ to get fired" Marty quickly told her just as soon as he'd heard her voice pause. There wasn't a single soul on the planet right now who didn't know the fear of unemployment; and Marty Stout was _surely_ one of them. "Just.....what do you want us to do?"

"That's a good question Marty! What _do_ I want to do now that I've cracked this much of the case so far?" She curiously asked; almost as if she were half-expecting some nearby piece of furniture to answer the question for her. "I guess I just have to figure out how I'm going to find the Underboss amongst all the other club occupants, figure out his identity, and then make a safe but inconspicuous getaway-- _Get my drift?_ "

"I got your drift, Babe Ruth."

"Great! Meet me in the recreational hall during lunch break and tell Betty to come too. If I _really_ want to pull this investigation off, I'm gonna need your guys help"

" _And how_ , Babe Ruth! I'll see you later"

"Bye Marty!" Donnelly cheerfully replied before placing the phone back on it's wall cradle and finishing up the last of her blandly flavored breakfast. With that call done and out of the way, it was time for Ruth to tidy up for work before heading into the agency so the three of them; Marty, Betty, and herself, could start cooking up some plan of action now that the Underboss's meeting location had been compromised.  
Of course, (like Marty had frequently reminded her), it was a _lot_ harder said then done. Peter A. Walter's troupe of criminals were probably the most violent mobsters in a jillion mile's radius. If there was one thing everyone knew about the Steam Powered Suit, it's that they didn't have an ounce of forgiveness in their hearts---I mean---if they even _had_ any. They were cold and brutal, and when it came to the lively topic of a good murder, they made sure to pull through and serve the crowd _exactly_ what they wanted to see every time--- _No witnesses left alive_. 

Brushing out the tangles from her powdery-blonde hair, Ruth quickly began to strip down to her bralette before pulling on one of her better suited dressed for work; a baby blue drop-waist, which was essentially the only kind of style she owned. _Obviously_ she possessed the occasional house dress and even a few sets of skirts and blouses as well, but the drop-waist was still a timeless classic despite the hurriedly changing times. 

With hair and makeup done, _(simple curls for the hair and light blush with dark lipstick for the makeup)_ , Ruth grabbed her things and the Walter Files with her yellow clutch and headed out the door in a hurry. It wasn't unusual for her to be late on Friday's when the Agency opened earlier then usual.   
She skipped down the apartment complex's stairs--skipping every other one until she made it to the bottom when she took off in a fast-paced jog for the trolley. Thankfully, Ruth knew the trolley man well. His name was Fredrick and he was a very nice old man with two lovely girls and a very cheerful wife; but next to that, he was also one of Ruth's most endearing friends. He always made sure to hold up the trolley for an extra 3 minutes so she could hop on before it left--and per usual--that's exactly what he'd done.

"Good Morning Mr. Fredrick!" Ruth beamed, almost out of breath as she quickly stepped onto the Trolley platform and groped for the nearest handle bar. "Thanks for holding the Trolley for me"

"Anytime Miss Donnelly! _Though_ , I would recommend purchasing a pocket watch one of these days" He playfully winked as a glistening ray of his youth still shown in the old man's eyes. Ruth was sure, (based on their frequent meetings), that Mr. Fredrick _had_ to have been some kind of cake-eater in his earlier days, but _oh_ how the time flies. Ruth smiled at his remark per usual, but today, her mind was mainly focused on the topic of The Walter Files. Both butterflies and hurricanes seemed to be occupying her stomach, but neither was really _that_ reassuring. 

Once the Trolley hit it's fifth stop, Ruth got off, thanking Mr. Fredrick of course before she left and made her way down the street towards the agency. The PND was a massive old building sitting at the end of the lane; looking like a small, brick giant that was crouched just at the end of the curb with it's large, heavy head overlooking the rest of the city. She swore she'd never forget the sight of the brassy thing.   
Standing at it's doorstep now, Donnelly took in a jarring breath of the Chicago air - vintage and real - before heading in.  
It was time to get to work.

Passing through the doors, the girl almost collided with Otis who'd quickly stepped out of the way to avoid said event from happening.

"Oh, I'm sorry Miss Donnelly!" He'd quickly apologized in his deep, comforting voice-- _and oh how Ruth ogled at the sound of it._ "How are you?" Otis added with a small but tired smile. 

Ruth quickly smiled in return, hoping the slight blush in her face wasn't too obvious.

"Oh I'm lovely, thank you!" She coyly replied before brushing a small strand of her hair back behind her ear. "How are you Mr. Bleeker?" Which was in fact Otis's last name.

"Oh--- _tired_ " He smirked to himself. "But ducky all the same--"

"Mr. Bleeker! About the Steam Powered Suit's Underboss!" Ruth inadvertently blurted.

"I'm sorry Miss Donnelly; what was that?" The man slowly responded, looking somewhat surprised by the spontaneous comment. 

"Oh......well, what I _meant_ to say was, weren't you the last one to be assigned to the Walter Files' Investigation?"

"Yes--that's right" He smiled to her again; his expression fascinated and surprisingly bright. "What brings you to ask?"

"I uh......"Ruth paused to find the right set of words. _Heaven help a woman who had to speak to a man she thought dashing._ "Mr. Bleeker" She finally began. "Would you mind joining me and my work partners for lunch break? We could really use some of your help"

"Well, I don't see why not" Otis told her with a grin. "I'm sure Booth and Hamish can go a few minutes without me-"

"Great! That's great!" Donnelly spoke with a blush still crowding her face. "See you then!" She quickly added before turning and skipping the stair's to the main-office room with a giddish expression.

"Miss Donnelly!" An all too familiar _eggy_ voice spoke up. Ruth internally rolled her eyes before looking up to see Mr. Raymond leaning against his office's doorway with his iconic fat cigar resting between his fingers. "Nice of you to finally join us"

"Mr. Raymond" Ruth dryly greeted.

"Say Ruthie, how's the Walter Files coming along? I know you were workin' on them pretty late last night before you left"

"Swimmingly, _Mr. Raymond_ " The girl proudly smiled. "I think it'll be up for wraps not long from now"

"Will it now!?" Her boss non-enthusiastically replied before he took a long drag of his St. Peter's Tobbacco cigar. "Looking forward to it Ruthie"

"Me too" Ruth continued with a smug grin. "Me too"

* * *

The first half of the day seemed to have came and went because as soon as 6 o' clock hit, Ruth Donnelly was the first one out of her chair with half the Walter Files in one hand and her notebook in the other as she bee-lined for the recreational hall where Marty and Betty where already waiting for her. 

"Hey guys!" She swiftly greeted them as she slammed down the pile of papers onto the empty table. "I've got good news for you!"

"This is the Walter Files we're talking about, Ruth" Betty had bluntly interrupted. "How good could it be?"

"Better then my grandma's key-lime pie"

" _Hey!_ I liked that pie!" Marty frowned.

"Exactly!" Ruth smiled just as Otis had wondered into the hall before casually approaching their table; hands leisurely placed on his hips.

" _Geezums_. Are these the Walter Files" He asked with wide eyes before gliding his fingers down the stack as if reminiscing when they'd been in his care. "Is this what you needed help with Miss Donnelly?"

"You got Otis to help us?" Marty questioned with furrowed brows.

"That's _exactly_ what we need your help with, Mr. Bleeker" Ruth happliy replied instead before pulling out some of Otis Bleeker's notes and handing them to man which he carefully took. "Me and Marty didn't get to go over all of your written-down-comments the other night, but we thought that _you_ might be able to tell us more about the Underboss yourself!"

"Their Underboss!? _Geezums_ Miss Donnelly! You're not investigating them by yourself, are you!?"

"Sadly---she is" Betty chimed in with a stern expression. "That awful Mr. Raymond put her on the job alone"

"Why!?" Otis questioned while simultaneously looking deeply disturbed---and if Otis Bleeker was disturbed, you _knew_ something was seriously wrong. 

"That's not important!" Ruth had quickly interjected; her face red with embarrassment as she couldn't stand to tell Otis that her _entire_ career was on the line because of far too many investigation screw ups. I mean, what would he think of her then? "My problem is that even though I've figured out _where_ their meeting place is, I don't know _when_ it takes place" 

"Oh that's easy" Otis had cut in as he began to leaf through a few more of the files himself; reading each as carefully as the last. "Every 3rd Friday at 10 PM." He casually clarified. "But _my_ only problem was that I could never figure out where the meetings would take place"

"Otis Bleeker! That's----" Ruth paused halfway through her statement; here eyes growing round as diner plates as she came to a horrifying realization. " _THAT'S TODAY!_ "

"Today!?" Marty exclaimed almost as loud as she did before he turned to look over at the office calendar hanging off a nearby wall. "Goddamn Babe Ruth, you're right! What're ya' gonna do!?"

"What do you mean what is she going to do?" Otis asked; clearly confused by everyone's sudden and uneasy statements. 

"I---uh-- _Don't worry about it Otis!_ " The female detective broadly smiled---almost too obvious of an attempt to mask the abundance of worry that was teeming out of her head like a tea-pot in a house fire. "Thanks for all your help! You should probably get back to Booth and Hamish to crack your current assignment! A clock can't work unless it has all of it's parts, right?"

"R-Right!" He sheepishly replied before rubbing the back of his neck and slowly stepping towards the door; unsure whether he should really leave. "Well, uh, if you guys need any more help, just give me a hoot"

"Will do!" Betty called to the noir detective as he turned and left, _(not without offering Ruth a quick wave of course)_. Once out of ear-shot, the girl speedily turned on her heels; ferociously biting her bottom lip with stress glowering in her eyes. 

"What the hell do I do now guys!" Ruth almost shrieked, though her voice remaining more at a strained whisper. "The meeting's tonight and I STILL don't have a plan of action! I'm done-zo. _Gone-zo!_ Houser's gonna have my head for lunch by the end of the week"

"Oh c'mon Ruth" Betty piped up with a small smile. "It can't be _that_ bad. Why are you so stressed about making it to the meeting tonight anyways? Otis _did_ say every 3rd Friday, which the next one is in like....17....25....................oh uh... _actually_ , I take that back" She paused. "Your definitely done-zo's if you don't think of a plan fast"

"Betty!" Marty shouted.

"What!? I'm _not_ wrong!"

"Yeah, well is sure ain't helping either!"

"Guys please calm down and stay focused!" Ruth loudly announced, causing both him and Betty to pipe down. "C'mon - we need to put our heads together!" She stated. " What's the easiest way to sneak into a club and get information on someone without a face. Who in a club has all the _Des Trucs_ on every occupant in the building--name or not. Who can remain entirely hidden but _simultaneously_ aware of everyone around them?" Ruth rambled on as the three of them began to frown in sync; gears turning left and right for any reasonable answer. The room had grown silent and inside ideas were just beginning to bloom in hyper-fixated minds. 

It was then though, in that long stream of silence, that Marty had suddenly shouted, "I got it!", causing both Betty and Ruth to flinch in surprise as they turned to stare at him; dumbfounded.

"You do?" Betty asked with furrowed brows. "That fast? _Really?_ "

"A waitress!" He finally added. "Isn't it obvious!"

"A waitress..." Ruth repeated; slightly in disgust.  
 _Now don't get her wrong_. Disguising herself as a waitress was a _fantastic_ idea, but when it came to waitresses who worked in nightclubs.....well...............let's just say it isn't the same. Nightclub maître d''s weren't your typical restaurant waiters. To put it bluntly, Nightclub Hostesses are more comparable to a cabaret quiff then a girl of the working class. Females who only _desperately_ needed the money to survive ever took on the role of a nightclub maître d'. But then again, there were the select few who enjoyed the scandalous attention they attracted. "I don't know Marty...." Ruth slowly spoke. "A nightclub waitress?"

"Oh c'mon Ruth! It'd only be for a few hours! _Besides_ , would you rather wear a scandalous nightclub uniform for an important investigation or loose your entire job"

Ruth sighed loudly in displeasure. 

"Sometimes I can really hate ya' Marty"

"So is it settled then?" Betty awkwardly added in. "Or.....?"

"No, _no_..." Ruth Donnelly sighed to herself before a small smile of victory graced her crimson lips. Displeased with the decision or not; she was on her way to cracking this case open like a nut-shell. " _It's settled_ \---I'll be intercepting the Steam Powered Suit's meeting tonight at Hangfire's Midnight Club!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Looks like our favorite steel automaton is finally coming into the picture! YAY!**
> 
> ||1920's Slang||  
> Speakeasy - a bar selling illegal liquor.  
> Egg - a person who leads an absurdly wealthy, extravagant lifestyle.  
> Don't be pickin' up any wooden nickels - Don't do anything stupid.  
> Bubs - A woman's breasts.  
> And how! - A phrase that means to 'strongly agree!'  
> Cake-Eater - A ladies man.  
> Quiff - a slut.
> 
> ||Additional Info||  
> Abraxo Cleaner is a very old brand of detergent.  
> Des Trucs - French for "stuff".


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so freakin' excited to update that I didn't bother to do an overall edit of it YET, so plz bare with me and enjoy. ((and sorry it took me so long. The chapter ended up being a whole 5,000 or so words!))

"Mr. Houser..." Otis drowsily greeted as he entered the man's large office. "Do you have a minute?"

"Of course Mr. Bleeker!" His boss quickly smiled in reply; a fuming cigar stuck between his teeth, (per usual), as he continued to read the latest print of the Chicago Tribune. "What can I help you with?"

"I....just had a small question" The detective responded before shutting the door and wondering towards Raymond's desk without bothering to sit. Otis was _not_ the sitting type. "I couldn't help but hear that you put Miss Donnelly on the Walter Files yesterday" He casually mentioned causing Mr. Raymond to choke awkwardly on his aromatic belvedere. Plumes of white smoke came rushing out of both his nose and mouth as he pulled the expensive Cuban cigar from his lips and rested his hand firmly to his chest to cease the uncomfortable coughing. 

"I--" He paused to cough one last time with a throaty _'harrumph'_ , "I didn't think you'd hear about that" He finished before rubbing the water from his irritated eyes. "What made you wanna' ask?"

"Not much. I just wanted to know why, is all" Otis dryly replied as he scratched the side of his scruff, deep in thought. "The Walter Files are a serious case and we stopped looking into them not that long ago for a very good reason Mr. Raymond. I just don't think it's a good idea too--"

"Woah, woah! Slow down there Bleeker! I see what the problem is here," Mr. Raymond smirked as he tossed his newspaper aside and placed his cigar back between his lips. "There's no reason to get upset. Miss Donnelley isn't _really_ going to investigate the Walter Files"

"I beg your pardon? She was investigating them this afternoon!?" Otis questioned with a frown; unsure of what Mr. Raymond was talking about all of a sudden.

"No, no Bleeker! That's not at _all_ what's happening---See---I just gave Miss Donnelley the assignment as a sort of, ya know.......friendly gag," His boss shrugged before taking a drag and smiling again. "Once Miss Donnelley realizes that she is _way_ in over her head and that there is-- _quite frankly--_ no way on earth a single detective could crack this case, she'll come back to resign the assignment!"

"How do you _know_ she'll resign the assignment?" Otis asked with narrowed eyes. "Miss Donnelley seems like a _very_ determined worker, Mr. Houser"

"Ruth Donnelley? Determined? Hah!---Don't be daft," The man laughed as he finally picked up his newspaper again. "Ruth Donnelly thinks getting out of bed is hard enough---and _besides_ \---even if there _was_ a small, itty, bitty chance that Miss Donnelly was going to take this case seriously, there is no way she could _ever_ get as far as actually tracking down the bloke; let alone successfully intercepting a secret mobster powwow and exploit his identity. As far as I'm concerned," Mr. Raymond paused as he turned his attention back to the article's headline. "The girl will be back in my office by the end of the week for a new assignment".

* * *

"There is NO way I'm _EVER_ asking Mr. Houser for a new assignment, Marty" Ruth loudly announced into the telephone's mouth piece as she struggled to pull on her sheer black stockings while holding the line safely between her ear and shoulder. "I'd rather drop dead then give that man the smug pleasure of firing me"

"Please don't say that Babe Ruth. I like you much better as a friend when you're alive"

" _Oh hush_ , you know I didn't mean it like _that_ Marty" The girl smirked as she finally pulled the nylons up to her waist and allowed her dark purple dress to fall back down over her knees. "I'll be in and out of that place in a jiff-o. Just you wait Marts--- _and remember_ \---I'm a detective! I do this stuff _allll_ the time"

"Do you really?"

"I do!" Ruth smiled as she took the phone between her fingers and turned to face her reflection in the bathroom mirror for the first time; a small gasp of surprise leaving her red lips. Even _she_ had to admit that for an investigation bust, the dress was _very_ nice---a bit overkill---but nice all the same. It'd been a parting gift from her dear-ole-mother just before she moved away to Chicago during the start of the "roaring twenties" when life was all about parties, breaking free, and living life to it's fullest, but _oh_ how times had changed so quickly. Sometimes Ruth found it hard to believe that a time as wonderful as the 20s had ever even existed. But end of the 20s or not; Ruth could have never parted with the endearing gift from her mother.  
The dress was long, reaching just around shin's length with black tassels hanging off the hem and the addition of a few foe-rhinestone's decorating the collar bone area.   
Ruth new that as long as she lived; this dress would single-handedly be the most expensive thing she could ever own. Even her _rent_ was cheaper then this dress.

"Babe Ruth? You still there?" Marty had suddenly spoken up again, breaking the girl's train of thought.

"Oh right! Sorry! I'm still here"

"Oh great!" Marty seemed to smile from behind the cover of the land-line. "I just wanted to tell you 'good-luck' Babe Ruth! Call me as _soon_ as you get back so I know you're alive, alright?"

"Ab-so-lute-ly!" Ruth playfully laughed as she began to fix a few of her tight curls. "Just make sure to pick up, ya got it?"

"You have no faith in me, do you..."

"No. Not really" She smirked before tapping the mouth piece as a sign she was going to hang up now. "See you on the other side Marts. I'll be heading out"

"Right on, Ruth Donnelly!" Marty had sang back just as she placed the phone back on the wall and stretched out her arms with a nervous sigh. Ruth knew that no matter how many jokes she could cracked with Marty, _nothing_ could mask the utter feeling of resent stewing in her stomach right now. It'd only been a few days ago that she'd intercepted the Jameson Brother's meeting almost the exact same way, but something about this particular mission........this time it felt...... _different_. It wasn't like most intercept missions where she had a whole team to back her up and fancy gear and someone to stay in contact with her. There was more room for error now that she was on her own.

Taking in a deep breath, Ruth spritzed her neck a few times with her best perfume before grabbing her favorite clutch and making her way out the door.  
  
The real adventure was _just_ beginning. 

* * *

Mr. Fredrick's trolley didn't typically run past 9:30, but thankfully Ruth's earlier work days also meant she got to leave work early too, so it was still a dazzling 9:00 when she'd just caught it leaving for downtown. The ride was surprisingly short though, (but maybe that was just the bodiless thoughts of impending doom telling her that), so once it'd finally reached it's half-way destination, the female investigator bid the old-man a polite goodbye before trekking the rest of the way to Hangfire's Midnight Club, _(which she specifically remembered had opened up off of Clybourn Avenue)_. But the scene of it all-- _oh_ \--the scene took her breath away.

Ruth had never seen so many lavishly dressed people gathered in one place at one time since the previous decade. _In fact_ , it was almost surreal to think that there were this many survivors of the current poverish times, but clearly the truth as they say, was in the pudding.  
Faces of all kinds, _(but mostly rich men)_ , stood outside the doors of Hangfire's whilst accompanied by either a fancily dressed date, or an even fancier dressed automaton. To put it bluntly; Chicago, _as a matter of fact_ , had once been the automaton capital of the world during the progression of World War 1. Once the government realized that robots were the solution to wining the war against the Central Powers, car factories quickly stopped manufacturing cars and started manufacturing automatons instead; creating beings with intelligence that made them almost sentient. They were one of America's best selling products up until November 11th, 1918 when the war had finally come to an end.  
After the Germans signed an armistice agreement with the Allies, America was left with over a quarter population's worth of automatons that they had no idea what to do with. That was when US citizens began what they called, _"The Unemployed Automaton Controversy"_. People argued left and right, saying that the US should either shut them all down and recycle them or consider them legal citizens of America and allow them to carry on with their lives like any normal human being; get a job, get a house--maybe even get married. The only problem was that neither side could come to a solid agreement. One half of the controversy didn't think Automatons counted as ACTUAL beings, while the other side stated, _and I quote_ , "If it can think for itself, it deserves a chance at life'.  
Thankfully though, it wasn't long before the government decided that they'd much rather make all existing automatons legal American citizens, then have to tediously gather them all up and destroy them one by one. Starting October 28th, 1919, Automaton's were officially considered legal occupants of America, _and since then_ , their sentience only expanded. 

That's why it wasn't unusual to see so many automatons within Hangfire's nightly sellout. Humans and Automatons alike--they either loitered about while others were there to clearly party.   
Paranoiacally gripping her clutch to her stomach, Ruth ventured into the mass of people; her eyes batting to and froe, searching for anyone who might've even _vaguely_ resembled the mobster's Underboss. Unfortunately though, said feat was going to be a lot harder then she wanted.   
The bar's grandioso-sized atrium was flooded wall-to-wall with drinking, smoking, and laughing people alike as they talked up an obnoxious hurricane that swirled threateningly around the hazy, alcohol scented room. When it came to pulling conversations apart from one another, the music only made it harder.   
Frank Sinatra's, _"Fly Me to the Moon"_ was currently being sung by a pretty female automaton standing up on stage, dressed entirely in white like a glowing angel as the spotlights reflected off her porcelain shell.

" _Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars...._ " she sang in a voice that was almost as silky as her looks. 

Ruth tried her best to turn her attention away from the croon-&-swoon music and any other insignificant noises, but it was more ambitious then it sounded. The sights, cacophony, and even the smells were more overwhelming then being hopped up ona truck-load of dope.  
Trying to awkwardly articulate herself through the busy crowd now, Ruth eventually stumbled out into the emptier back-hall of Hangfire's where employees and guest entertainment mingled quietly. No one seemed to notice her though as they were too busy worrying about their own avocations---and besides---it wasn't like Ruth was _trying_ to be a spectacle. Taking advantage of the moment, Ruth was able to snag an unused hostess uniform from a nearby warehouse box before continuing down the narrow corridor while passer-by band members greeted her politely; tipping their hats and even winking. Ruth was girlishly flattered, offering the youthful bachelors a sheepish wave before she finally made it into the bathroom's at the end of the hall. 

Stepping inside the first empty stall she could find, Ruth quickly began to strip down and change into the scandalous hostess uniform that fell -just- above her knees; giving her the awful sensation that she was about to commit something vile when, _in fact_ , it was quite the opposite. The chiffon fabric it'd been sewn out of hung gently on the curves of her body--slightly more snug then her own dress--with silver and pink, sparkly tassels hanging from the collar bone down. The piece was skimpy, but she knew it'd do the job and allow her access to places within Hangfire's that most people couldn't go. After tossing her original outfit, (stockings and all), onto the toilet lid, Ruth for a split second knelt down to look under the stall for anyone else who might've come inside while she was busy changing. Thankfully though, it was still empty, gaining the girl a smug smile.  
  
Content with the vacancy, Ruth proceeded to check that the door was still locked before briskly rolling under it and bounding back to her feet on the other side. If Donnelly really wanted to make this a quick getaway, she had to make certain that no one could possibly steal her only change of clothes while she was busy dealing with the investigation, otherwise _that_ would've been absolute -hell- to walk home in. Not only was winter well on it's way, but the outfit would've also gained her an unwanted amount of shady street attention---especially in a part of town like this.

Sending her reflection a cheeky glare of approval, Ruth eventually breathed in the smell of vomit, vodka, and cheap perfume before finally parading back into hall to hear that the Hullabloo had yet to simmer. The music was still just as vibrant as ever, sending the air itself into a sort of spaztic swing-like-pattern. Ruth smiled gently to herself. Parties like this had always reminded her of the ones in New York that her mother attended on the usual. Sure they weren't as foul in terms of occupants, but the atmosphere's energy easily matched that of a good ole' fashioned New York hop. The thought brought her nothing less then nostalgia, but all it took was one outrageous laugh from an already zozzled attendee at the bar to break her from her thoughts.  
 _We need to stay on task here Ruth, no time for dawdling_ , she told herself with a disconcerted sigh before snatching a tray of liquors off the bar counter and beginning her search for said mystified Underboss and his esteemed band of capos. I mean, _surely,_ it couldn't be that hard right? No. It really _was_ that hard... In order to get a good read on all of the present customers in the room, Ruth had to make slow strides between the tables; stopping frequently to get a breath of their conversation before moving onto the next when the topic was of no importance to her. As far as Ruth was concerned, 9:47 came around sooner than she'd expected and she still had no potential leads despite her in-depth snooping. The most suspicious conversation she'd eves-dropped on was between two men, _(a human and an automaton)_ , who were currently discussing their affairs and how much they hated their wives. Typical _AND_ disgusting---It obviously wasn't uncommon to find such unsavory people in a place like the midnight club, but hopefully she'd have more success before 10:00 came around. 

Shifting the liquor tray from one hip to the other, Ruth finally decided it was time to check the upstairs private rooms for her target. Only the richest club occupants could afford to rent rooms like that, and if the Steam Powered Suit really was planning on meeting here tonight---a quieter location would be the perfect place to host it.  
  
The stairwell leading to the upstairs corridors were narrow and far less traveled then the hall ways on the bottom floor where the party was more lively---the second floor though? Not so much. The most noise that could be heard was a soft mumble that pooled among the pairs of people and automatons who stood around drinking their martinis and greasy shots. A greasy shot, _when referring to robots of course_ , was an inky, black substance based solely with diesel strong enough to recreate the iconic buzz alcohol gave humans. Least to say, it was a hot liquor among automatons and was widely produced across America. But just as before, no one seemed to pay Ruth any mind as she casually strode around the wide halls; looking everyone up and down for any indication they might have relations to the mob. No one caught her interest though; no one-- _of course--_ until her eyes fell upon a pair of characters who seemed all too recognizable, striking her with utter delight.  
Cobalt blue hair, pale skin, and factory-esque dresses; it was a duo of Walter Workers no doubt. Walter Workers were what Peter himself called, "his brainy disposables" and worked directly under both him and his Underboss. They were highly intelligent females based on the rumor's Ruth had heard, and if _they_ were here, the Underboss couldn't be far behind. Well.....quite literally actually.   
The pair of lab-dressed girls were currently guarding the outside of one of the meeting rooms where the rest of the Steam Powered Suit assumably were at the moment. That's when Ruth had clumsily hesitated, her hands growing slippery against the gold liquor tray as she studied them from afar. Things were certainly starting to feel a little more real now, and the man she was looking for was no doubt behind those very doors---all she need was his name, _(and maybe some extra info too just so she could rub elbows with Houser for an extra zest of spite)_. Oh, but Ruth could hardly contain herself; imagining the absolute look of hooey on the old high-hat's face. It made her heart want to burst from an unmanageable amount of suspense. 

Gripping the only thing between her hands, _(which would be the liquor tray)_ , Ruth made slow but careful strides through the light crowd; her eyes locked on both Walter Workers as they paid no mind to the excitement around them. Ruth wasn't entirely sure if there was any possible way of sweet-talking herself into the room even for just a split-second, but the employees storage closet conveniently located beside it was certainly more inviting. Without a second of hesitance, the female investigator made a straightaway for the door, pulling it open and quickly locking herself inside as she fumbled not to trip over the boxes cluttering the majority of the floor. Setting the tray down on a nearby shelf, Ruth approached the wall closest to the room the Walter Worker's were guarding and pressed her ear up against it. When she held her breath, she could hear faint talking coming from the other side, but the wall was too thick to make out any distinct words.

Ruth backed up while biting her lip nervously as she tried to figure out how she might get around this minor inconvenience. I mean, there was no way in _hell_ she was letting one lousy wall stand in the way of this investigation--not after everything she'd gone through to get here.  
Rubbing the back of her neck, deep in thought, Ruth's eyes eventually made contact with the liquor tray and one very particular tall glass of whiskey sitting on top of it. Her chest tightened and she smiled as a metaphorical light-bulb suddenly went off inside her head. The girl immediately reached for the glass without a second to loose, she took a small sip, _(which made her cringe)_ , and tossed the rest over her shoulder. Flipping the glass, she placed the open end against the wall and her ear to the bottom of it like she did when she'd spy on her parents conversations--and _voilà_ \--It worked just as perfectly as it had 16 years ago.  
 _Finally_ , she could hear things more clearly now and the words that came from the other side were nothing less then an early victory.

"Rabbit, I don't think that is a very good idea" A higher-pitched male voice suddenly spoke. 

" _Rabbit_.....?" Ruth mumbled to herself.

"Oh c-c-c'mon Hatchworth! It's a great i-idea!" A female stuttered in reply, clearly an automaton by the mechanical glitch in her voice. "Trust me! Now that the Becile's lil' band of m-m-misfits have flown the coop with all the money from their last heist, I doubt they'd be expecting an ambush from us! _They_ think that _we_ think that _they_ got the money from the Chicago Bank after the Jameson Brothers bombed the place"

"Holy Cannoli" Ruth suddenly gasped in a hushed whisper. "The Jameson Brothers!?"

"On the contrary, I think they'd _certainly_ be expecting an ambush from us now---money or not" The male named Hatchworth replied. "It's too risky"

"Doesn't......Doesn't anyone want to hear what I think?" Another male spoke up; his voice more timid but deeper.

"No, not really" The other two replied in unison. 

"If I should be so bold as to, _cut in_ ," A _significantly_ richer voice had added in, making Ruth blink rapidly in surprise by it's outrageous octave difference in comparison to the others. "I think Peter would be _delighted_ to host another shoot-out on the Becile's now that their little circus of errand boys have jumped ship. Litheborrn Street I'm guessing?" The voice continued as Donnelly had suddenly let out a shaky breath she hadn't remembered holding. There was no doubt about it. This guy _had_ to be the Underboss. Only someone of that position would feel entitled enough to talk about the Over-Boss like they were an old friend. The thought itself made her heart skip a few beats as she realized what kind of dangerous work she was really committing now. One slip up and the four of them would be cracking her bones like toothpicks in the back alley of Hangfire's. 

"I don't know, The Spine..." Hatchworth apprehensively responded but the rest of his sentence had already begun to trail off as Ruth's brain blocked it out with the feeling of being a light and airy balloon.

 _That_ was it. _  
_ _THAT_ was the Underbosses identity! The Godforsaken name she'd been looking for all this time was a damned 2 syllable title! And on top of that, not only did she get his name but she also got wind of their confidential plans involving another supposed mob group called the Becile's who were-- _even better yet--_ the Goddamn Jameson brother's employers. Geez-Louise, talk about killing two birds with one stone. If it weren't for the fact that Ruth was trying to be stealthy, she would've broken out into a full-on song number. She was -finally- going to save her job, and maybe this would even get her a reluctant promotion from Houser if this impressed him enough, _(which she had no doubt it would)_.  
Leaning away, Ruth quickly placed the cup aside next to the tray before grabbing for it---but dear God---she was too impatient. The amount of energy she'd pulled it off the shelf with had sent a few of the drinks shattering across the floor. The girl stopped dead in her tracks; a nervous wave of heat coming down her back as she refused to breath or move.   
The conversation next door had come to an obvious pause and she was beginning to think that she'd slipped up big time. Trying to stay calm, she heard a small mumble follow the mobster's silence, making her realize that it was time for her to blow.

Without hesitance, the girl reached for the door again and jogged out as she heard the Underboss's room open up behind her. Donnelly gasped quietly to herself, her blood running cold as she half-expected someone to call out to her; but nobody ever did. Mostly because she was already half-way down the staircase before somebody could, but nothing seemed more important to her now then making this getaway as fast as possible. She couldn't believe she'd actually made it this far, but it was too early to celebrate; she wasn't out of the woods quite yet.

Practically bursting into the bathrooms, (which were thankfully still empty), Ruth tossed her golden liquor tray into the nearest trash-bin before rolling under the locked bathroom stall and lunging for her things. She stripped down for the 3rd time that day, pulling on her original dress with a massive smile as she tried hard not to squeal in excitement. 

"I can't believe this!" She muttered loudly to herself as the bathroom's door creaked open. Realizing she was no longer alone, Ruth didn't bother herself in finishing the last part as she pulled her notebook from her yellow clutch and began to feverishly scribble down everything she'd heard. The Spine, Hatchworth, Rabbit, The Becile's; as much as she could remember---she didn't want to risk forgetting a _single_ thing. "Now what was the name of that place they said again?" She whispered under her breath before slowly pulling her heels back on. Just as she was going to write down the name, someone loudly banged on her stall door.

Ruth rolled her eyes. "Occupied!" She candidly called before turning her attention back to the notepad in her hands. "Now about that place-"

Another bang and Ruth jumped this time. 

"Hey lady! I said this stall's occupied!" Ruth shortly repeated as she began to gather her things, annoyed that she'd have to finish her notes on her walk home. "Geezums....she sure is blotto" the investigator mumbled to herself as the woman on the other side began to bang on her stall for the 3rd time. Ruth grimaced, not wanting to deal with some drunk female on her way out as she began to slowly unlock the stall.  
Two small steps forward and Ruth realized she was looking down the barrel of a gun now. The girl almost shrieked as she stumbled backwards, clutching her notes to her chest as she met eyes with a towering steel automaton with vivid green eyes and the two Walter Workers who aimed their revolvers at her face. 

"Ruth Donnelly" The automaton placidly spoke, making Ruth's heart stop in sudden horror that his unmistakably deep voice, _(which was even deeper in person)_ , belonged to no other then the Underboss himself. She couldn't believe this. The Underboss of the Steam Powered Suit was a giant _metal man,_ and much like most Underbosses, he was clearly dressed for the part. The "metal man" wore a lavish, black pin-stripe suit and fedora to match with a shocking red tie knotted tightly around the silver plates that built his throat. No amount of words could possibly describe the investigator's shock as she stood stunned before the metallic mobster like a deer caught _dead_ in the headlights.   
  
"That depends..." She slowly breathed. "Who's asking...."

"Ruth then!" The automaton interjected. "My name's The Spine" He suavely smiled. "But you already knew that.....didn't you"

Oh God, Ruth could practically see the wording on her headstone now. _'Ruth Donnelly; died because she was a damned clutz'_. The girl took in a hesitant inhale and smiled, trying to remain as calm and composed as she could in fear of showing she was intimidated. The detective hadn't a clue how on earth The Spine could've possibly known her name, but something told her that something else had, _indeed_ , gone terribly wrong. She just couldn't put her finger on it yet.

"And why on earth would I know that" She innocently asked before receiving a deep chuckle of amuse from the steel man. If it weren't for the fact that she was in literal peril right now, Ruth would've thought that his laugh was cute---but she _didn't_.

"Oh you're funny" The Underboss had cheekily smiled, his teeth pearly and charming. "But it's time for you to cut the angel-act, sweetheart" The Spine smirked in reply as he crossed his arms firmly over his chest. "I know who you are Ruth Donnelly and I know exactly why you're here. To put it bluntly..." He paused to look around the room, clearly just trying to lengthen the suspense. "A little birdy told me you'd be here tonight to spy on us--- _so_ \---I just had to see for myself" He smiled again. "low and behold, here _you_ are!"

The girl felt something inside of her die; her hand inadvertently gripping her notes closer to her chest as she stared the automaton dead in his vibrant chartreuse eyes. There was only one way out of this now, and that was either out the front door or out the front door in a body bag---but she didn't even want to _think_ about the other possibility. Right now, she had to focus on the fact that two electric blue-haired girls were pointing their blasters a foot from her face. One wrong move, and there'd be two distinct holes in her forehead. 

"Now Miss Ruth" The Spine finally spoke again with a slight tilt of his head. "We can either do this the easy way, or the hard---- _aaaand she's running_ " He stopped to add as the girl had suddenly ducked and bolted for the bathroom door. Both Walter Workers turned on the heels of their boots before lunging after her as The Spine smiled, somewhat admiring the girl's outwardness. She certainly had guts despite the predicament.

Ruth barged violently through the bathroom door to be met with both loud jazz and another brass automaton standing outside with his hand on a revolver of his own. The girl's eyes grew wide in disbelief as she narrowly avoided a bullet by tripping backwards as she darted out into the main atrium. She could hear the Underboss and his associates not far behind, but this was no time to look back. Ruth could feel the adrenaline in her brain sky-rocket as she pushed through the crowd, begging that the door would appear sooner or later.  
Stepping on a few rich men's feet and bumping into some bent customers shoulders, the girl finally made it for the exit. Oh how It was _just_ out of arms reach when she stepped out and somebody else just _happened_ to grip the back of her collar; wrenching her backwards with brute force. Ruth shrieked, but the sound of such a yell was easily drowned by the music and voices as she lost her footing; her head slamming the floor with an ear-splitting crack as bone met marble.

Ruth grimaced in utter pain as her limbs sprawled outward, giving her the shape of a sickened star as she stared blankly towards the ceiling; all noise drowned by the obnoxious ringing in her ears. 

Time seemed to slow and slip away like film on a wheel as she tasted blood gradually fill her mouth from the gouge she'd created on the inside of her lip. Ruth blinked--- _sluggishly_ \---her eyes filling with black little stars as a female automaton with strikingly pink hair had suddenly leaned over her; a look of smugness drawn across her pretty chalk-white features.

"Gotcha" She must've mouthed before being joined by the tall, steel Underboss who grinned at the site of Ruth laying dazed on the floor. That's when things finally slipped away and the girl felt her heavy eyes flutter closed before she was sent drifting down a bottomless black void without dreams.

It was going to be a long, _long_ night for Ruth Donnelly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ||1920s Slang||  
> Hopped Up - on the influence of drugs.  
> Hooey - BS  
> High Hat - A snobbish person.  
> Time for her to 'Blow' - Time for her to leave.  
> Blotto - Someone who is extremely drunk.  
> Bent - Another word for being drunk.
> 
> ||Additional Info||  
> Belvedere - another word for a cigar.
> 
> ((Hey, by the way, should I start giving my chapters ACTUAL titles, or leave it as is???))  
> **and you guys FINALLY got a sneak-peek of the metal man himself! Do you guys think I gave his personality justice? Dear God, I hope so! Plz tell me what you thought ofc <3**


End file.
